


Exist for Love, Only for Love

by ashamedbliss



Series: Once and Future Queen [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Always-a-girl!Merlin, Canon Era, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Girl!Merlin, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleepy Sex, Smut, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashamedbliss/pseuds/ashamedbliss
Summary: King Arthur wakes before his wife on Yule morning.He can't be expected to wait until Merlin wakes up to start loving her, can he? He's only a man, after all.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Once and Future Queen [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/194849
Comments: 18
Kudos: 238





	Exist for Love, Only for Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freddielyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddielyon/gifts).



> Well, hello everyone. It's been a few years, hasn't it?
> 
> I never forgot about these two. Enjoy some early Christmas fluff/smut <3\. Thank you to Anita for the idea and for her endless support. Happy early Christmas - hopefully I'll finish up that royals AU soon enough for you.
> 
> Recommended playlist - Exist for Love by Aurora (fic title taken from this song), Angels by The xx, Sleep Baby Sleep by Broods, a thousand years (lullaby) by Christina Perri. Fairy lights and a warm fire optional.

Arthur is sure it’s Merlin twitching in her sleep which has woken him up.

Keeping his eyes stubbornly closed for a few more minutes, he tightens his hold on his wife, who huffs with a quiet snore.

Merlin is a heavy sleeper.

Arthur had discovered this incredibly useful piece of information shortly after they had begun officially courting. However, it had taken her several months to learn to sleep in beyond the crack of dawn, when she used to get up to attend her duties.

He feels blindly for her hand under the covers, holding it within his own, and she still doesn’t stir. He feels where her callouses are growing soft, skin becoming that of a lady rather than that of a maid. His hands dwarf hers. Her treasured wedding ring sits on the nightstand, and the space where it would normally sit around her finger is bare.

He would tattoo her there, if he could, so that everyone knew she was his, so that everyone knew King Arthur belonged to Queen Merlin.

Slowly, Arthur opens his eyes. The curtains are drawn and the room sits in darkness. He can tell the fire has burned low overnight when icy air catches his cheek as he cranes his neck above the top of the bedspread.

Merlin never used to let the fire burn down this low. He looks at her, the mess of black curls fanned over the pillow, and smiles to himself. She could relight the fire now, and the candles, damn it, she could even grow berries once more on the boughs decorating the room. He would hate to wake her, though.

Merlin’s magic, both in the physical and ethereal sense, could wait just a little while longer.

Arthur pulls himself away from her tempting body, much to the disappointment of his cock, which had also been in the process of waking up.

Perhaps that’s why he’s feeling quite brusque when he goes to find his servant, firmly requesting that the fire be stoked and breakfast be brought in.

However, his new servant (average sized ears, far too polite for his liking, _male_ ) is nowhere to be found.

Arthur opens the door to his chambers softly, poking his head around the wood to find a guard there. “Good morning, sire,” the guard chirps, far too happily for this time in the morning. “Happy Yule.”

“Hmm. That explains the lack of manservant,” Arthur grumbles, sleep lowering his voice. Damn Merlin and her stupidly big heart. Well, that and the fact that she was still good friends with most of the servants from before; of course she’d manage to wrangle them Yule morning off work.

After returning the Yuletide greeting, Arthur shuts the door again. With a sigh, he pads across the skins on the floor to the hearth, dodging the gaps where the cold flagstone is waiting to freeze his toes. He stokes the fire, adding kindling and then another log after a few minutes of quiet contemplation. It kindles something long forgotten in him, building his own fire, a man providing for his woman at the most basic level.

He smiles to himself, the warmth of the fire wrapping around his bare chest. The thought of looking after Merlin for the rest of her life (he refused to think of her having to live without him, ever) settled low in his stomach, a comfortable burden to bear.

Too used to servants, or to Merlin’s wonderful magic, he refuses to light the several dozen candles scattered around his bedroom. Instead, he cracks the closest set of curtains open, the soft morning light spilling into the room. It’s snowing outside, and Arthur knows it will be nearly knee deep in the courtyard after yesterday’s heavy showers. There will be little work done around the castle today, which suits him just fine.

The only thing he wants to do today is Merlin.

He creeps across his own bedroom to return to his bed, feeling like a giddy little boy. In the years after his father’s death, Yule had never been of much importance to him. He had celebrated it because his people wanted to, and he had only lived to serve them.

But then Merlin came along, with her love of festive decorations and her deadly punch, a blend of honey, ale, and spices that made his chest burn. Merlin, with her smile brighter than the stars in the sky and her big blue eyes, pleading him to visit the townspeople with her to give out alms to the poor at the start of Yuletide. Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.

Arthur rids himself of his sleeping breeches and slips under the covers once more. His chest was warmed by the fire, and therefore Merlin doesn’t protest when he returns to the cocoon of warmth she sleeps peacefully in, spooning her from behind.

Wrapping an arm around her, Arthur’s hand drifts to her face, his thumb tracing her full bottom lip. She sighs, a dainty thing, before closing her lips around the tip of it.

This innocent gesture does unspeakable things to Arthur. He swallows the groan rising in his throat, his cock swelling where it’s pressed against the cleft of Merlin’s arse, the soft material of her nightgown the only barrier between their bodies. Arthur wants it gone, like Merlin magicked away her dress that disastrous evening with the cold iron handcuffs, but he will have to wait.

Or, maybe...

Arthur presses his nose to Merlin’s neck, just above her scar, and inhales. She smells like honey and cinnamon – she’d snuck down to the kitchens yesterday to help, or hinder, the chefs preparing today’s feast; he wasn’t sure which. As he drowns in her scent, he remembers a conversation they’d had long ago, on the night he’d discovered her magic, that he’d wrapped up into a neat little parcel and stored at the back of his mind.

_Make you come in your dreams..._

Merlin sucks his thumb ever so slightly deeper into her mouth, and Arthur has to pull it away before he comes undone all over the back of her nightdress. His hand drifts downwards, cupping one heavy breast. Merlin mewls, and Arthur tries to do some arithmetic, feeling drunk on Merlin’s proximity. When had she last bled? Could she, finally, be...

Arthur’s groan rumbles in his chest. The thought of Merlin carrying his child is incredibly sumptuous. She is ten years his junior, in the prime of her life for birthing children. His hand leaves her breast to allow his fingertips to skim her sides down towards her stomach. Merlin twitches against his touch, tickled, and Arthur holds his breath. He doesn’t want her to wake up now and shatter this little world, while his mind is still reeling with the prospect of her being pregnant. She could turn around and tell him she’d bled just last week, and it would ruin his Yule.

Well. That may be a slight exaggeration, because she would smile widely and whisper, “why don’t we try again?” and Arthur would be lost to her mouth once more.

The dragon that Merlin was so fond of (and Arthur hadn’t yet released, because Spring was the proper season for new beginnings) had told her she wouldn’t quicken until the time was right. They were married in the eyes of their Gods now, man and wife, King and Queen. Surely the time was right enough.

Arthur’s hand rests against Merlin’s belly, warm and sure. He presses a kiss to Merlin’s shoulder blade, left unprotected by her nightdress, and Merlin makes a small, happy noise. Just below where his lips rest, the puckered skin of her scar runs down her back. She hadn’t hidden it again once he’d seen it months ago now, and he’d made a point to include it in his daily worship. Arthur kisses her again, as delicately as he can but with as much love as he dares.

His hand moves to her hip and his eyebrows raise slightly when his fingertips brush against the hem of the garment; Merlin must have moved enough in the night to cause it to ride up. He inches it higher, wishing he could see Merlin’s long legs being exposed under the bed, in some kind of sordid tease. “Fuck, Merlin,” he whispers to himself, knowing that she’s sleeping too deeply to wake to the sound of his voice, his beautiful wife.

He often wonders what would’ve happened if she hadn’t burnt those treaties and demanded, breathlessly, to be punished. It felt like lifetimes ago now, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Flattening his palm against her thigh, Arthur’s hand creeps around towards the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs. His muscles act of their own accord, this path an ancient trail that he has followed for months now, a pilgrim until the end of time. As he strokes her lips there she mewls again, and he finds that she’s wet.

“Gods,” he murmurs, his eyes falling closed. He’s sweating under the heavy bedding, almost regretting building the fire up again, but without the added light he wouldn’t be able to see Merlin’s lips part in a sigh, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. He props himself up on one elbow so he can better see her, better touch her.

His finger slips deeper, and she’s pure heat around him, her juices sliding against his other fingers. He rolls his hips against her, fully aware that his cock is leaking and so, so ready against her arse.

Slowly, gently, he touches her clit. Merlin hums in her sleep, a smile stretching across her face. Her legs shift under the covers, tilting her hips forward to chase the contact.

Arthur wonders if he’s broken the spell and she’s woken up, but then she buries her face into the pillow and stills again.

Biting his lip, Arthur decides to not touch her clit again, in case she rouses too sharply and wakes. He drags his fingertip between her lips once more, the heat there a siren song to his cock. He grunts, pulling his hand away from her cunt entirely and pressing against her thigh, bringing her leg up higher.

 _Green_ , he can hear in his head, an echo of the old colour code he and Merlin used to use, and every now and then still did. He wonders if it’s simply a memory, or Merlin soundlessly communicating with him via magic. Either way, he strokes the back of Merlin’s thigh up towards her arse, feeling her pussy from behind this time.

From this angle, it’s easier to slip a whole finger inside, up to his knuckle. Merlin swallows him up as if he belongs there. He knows she doesn’t need working open – she’s reminded him of this on several occasions, much to his chagrin – but he can’t help but do it each time. Arthur adds another finger, extending the torture session he’s inflicting on himself, pressing his cock against Merlin’s bare arse, her nightshirt caught up between her back and his chest.

A hum of appreciation from Merlin is all the encouragement Arthur needs.

Shifting down the bed slightly, Arthur takes his cock in his hands and positions it against Merlin’s cunt, the warmth there tempting to the point of madness. Slowly, _slowly_ , he prays quietly as he enters her, groaning through clenched teeth because he’s trying his damnedest to keep quiet.

But Merlin feels so good, as good as the first time they did this, as good as their wedding night, as good as that one time after a ball where they were nearly caught in the throne room. Gripping Merlin’s hip, Arthur fucks in closer until he’s pressed against the entire line of her body. He could die like this, here, buried in Merlin, and he would be a perfectly happy man.

Arthur pulls out a little and then thrusts forwards again. There’s something about the way Merlin is pliant in his arms, all long limbs and soft curves, that stirs in his chest. Arthur actually prides himself on the fact that he’s being slow, loving her gently, delicately.

And then Merlin clenches around him.

Arthur can’t help the moan that is torn from him, much louder than he intended. He realises, after a moment, that Merlin’s shoulders are shaking slightly. “You’re awake,” Arthur murmurs, not necessarily displeased. He rolls his hips, and Merlin nearly trills. “How long have you been pretending to be asleep for?”

“Not long enough,” she gasps. Her voice is thick with sleep, too, and when she turns her blue eyes up towards him, he nearly loses his resolve to not rush things. “Although, waking up with your cock inside me was a lovely Yule gift.”

Her lips round around the word _cock_ , the sound popping in her mouth. She smiles, eyelids heavy as Arthur thrusts into her again. “Happy Yule,” Arthur breathes into her ear, lips ghosting the shell of it. Merlin moans deeply this time.

Now she’s awake, Arthur doesn’t have to be so gentle. He rolls onto his back, dragging Merlin onto his chest, still buried inside her, and she plants her dainty feet either side of him on the bed. “Get rid of this wretched thing,” Arthur says as her nightgown continues to separate them, his feet kicking the covers off their heated bodies.

“I was hoping you would’ve done that for me,” Merlin mutters; Arthur can practically see her rolling her eyes based on her tone. She whispers a few foreign words and it disappears, the wispy thing rematerializing in the corner of the room, thrown over a chair.

“Yes, well, you’re not as heavy a sleeper as I thought, _clearly_ ,” he says, irritated that Merlin has the upper hand, once again, as she always does.

In this position, Arthur can touch Merlin all over. His hands cup her breasts as she arches her back to drive down into him, fingertips circling her nipples. He can’t fuck her deeply in this position, but he’s in no particular hurry. He thrusts upwards again.

“Arthur,” she breathes, as if it’s a prayer. Arthur brushes her hair away from his face, some of the strands catching on his morning stubble. Reluctantly, one hand abandons her tits and moves straight to her clit. “Arthur... _oh_.”

“Do you know how wet you get in your sleep, Merlin?” Arthur wonders into her ear. “You were _drenched_. Were you dreaming of me?”

Merlin laughs, before a weak thrust from Arthur makes her splutter. “What if I told you I was?” she drawls after she composes herself.

Arthur hums at that, and Merlin must’ve felt it reverberate through his chest and her back, because she drives her hips downwards to meet his. “And what was I doing in your dream, Merlin?”

Merlin shuffles up Arthur’s body so that he slips out of her. Arthur grumbles, but she swiftly turns herself around to straddle his chest, facing him. Her wet pussy glides across his stomach muscles as she rolls her hips. Biting her lip to hold back a grin, she grinds down into him. “Merlin,” he chokes, forcibly pushing her down his body towards his groin. “That’s not where I need you.”

“You were just like this in my dream,” Merlin says as she raises herself up slightly, reaching back for Arthur’s cock. Arthur clumsily helps her, drinking in the sight of Merlin running her free hand through her hair, her tits moving as she settles himself into a rhythm again.

Arthur forgets how to breathe as he runs his hands down her body, at what he swears is the swell of her belly, before thumbing at her clit again.

Merlin tosses her head back, curls flying about her as she puts a delicate hand on Arthur’s broad chest to steady herself. One hand on her hip and the other at her cunt, Arthur tries to thrust up into Merlin, but she is holding him steady. “Are you using magic on me, Merlin?” Arthur asks, mirth in his tone.

Merlin’s eyes flutter open from where they had closed, her wide pupils ringed with gold. “Yes, because you weren’t being so _demanding_ in my dream,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Arthur laughs loudly, taken by surprise as always by his clever, brilliant, magnificent wife.

She rocks forward again, her eyes flying wide. “Oh, Arthur, touch me, Arthur, _please_.”

Arthur can only obey, continuing the ministrations on her clit as his other hand goes to one heavy breast, the pad of his thumb ghosting over her nipple. “Your tits, Merlin, fuck,” he says, mesmerised. “Can’t wait to see these huge.” His hand goes back to her belly. He’s so close that he’s lost control of his tongue, his thoughts running away from him. “Can’t wait to see you fat with my child, can’t wait to... to fuck you while you’re full, just...”

Merlin’s eyes flash gold. “Oh, Gods, Arthur.” She presses down onto him and clenches tightly, fingernails scratching against Arthur’s chest as her head falls forward. Merlin tries in vain to catch her breath as she shakes, crying out with a guttural moan.

As she comes, she drenches Arthur’s cock in her own juices, and Arthur stops trying to rein in the last of his control and lets himself go, Merlin’s name on his lips as he squeezes his eyes shut.

When Arthur returns to the land of the living a few moments later, the only sound in the room is their heavy breathing, and the occasional crackle of the logs in the fire. Merlin uses one trembling hand to brush her curls back from her face, so she can see Arthur. “Morning,” she whispers with a giggle.

Arthur laughs, his hands on Merlin’s thighs. “Good morning.” Merlin blushes. “Excuse me, my Queen, but you are not permitted to _blush_ after you’ve just had your wicked way with your poor husband like that.” Arthur’s not even sure if he’s made sense, but Merlin has wrung every last drop of intelligence from him.

Merlin slaps his chest lightly. “There’s nothing poor about my husband,” she says, and Arthur’s heart swells around _my husband_ as it did when she said it for the first time during their wedding vows. “And you asked me what my dream was about. Well, that was it.”

Arthur helps guide Merlin off his softening cock, her thighs trembling as she all but collapses onto the bed next to him. She raises her hand, calling over a washcloth that they share to clean each other up. Sometimes, Arthur wonders if these moments of calm and tranquillity are better than the sex, that deep-rooted need to care for his wife bubbling to the surface again.

Once both suitably clean, Merlin magically pulls the bed cover up over them both, turned on their sides and facing each other. “Happy Yule, Merlin,” Arthur mumbles to her, finally kissing her good morning.

Her lips open under his like a flower to sunlight. “Happy Yule to you too,” she manages to breathe against him, before Arthur licks into her open mouth. Merlin mewls softly at the action.

“Don’t start making those noises,” Arthur warns her, “if you want to get out of this bed any time this morning.”

“It’s Yule,” Merlin says softly, “I’m only getting out of bed for food. And presents, of course,” she says, pulling back to smile. “You got me one, didn’t you?”

There’s a dangerous look in her eyes, and Arthur can’t help but kiss her once more. “As if my hand in marriage and you waking up on my cock this morning wasn’t enough,” he replies, and he definitely deserves the quick nip he receives to his lower lip. He laughs, cupping her face with his hands and pulling her away from his mouth gently. “Ow,” he pouts.

“I do love you, _sire_ ,” she says lowly, like an eagle with its prey in her sights. “But if you think that your cock is some magic weapon that cures all ails, then, well...”

Arthur is already laughing. “Where are you going with that, Merlin?”

Merlin’s shoulders are shaking as she tries to suppress giggles, Arthur’s laughter contagious. “I’m not sure. The thought of your cock as the next Excalibur was quite distracting.”

“Idiot,” he coos, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Needless to say, I got you a present. I don’t want to be the first King of Camelot to be murdered by his Queen, of course.”

“Of course,” Merlin nods.

“The snow is too heavy to use it today, but perhaps tomorrow.” Arthur thinks of the mare Llamrei, stabled next to his Hengroen, both hopefully wrapped in several blankets to keep them warm. Llamrei is the perfect size for Merlin, and he’d make sure she was wearing a pretty blue bow when he takes Merlin down there tomorrow. He hopes Merlin likes her, can’t wait to see her eyes light up as she realises what her present is.

“Like I said, I plan on staying in bed with you all day, so that’s fine,” Merlin says, bringing him back to the present. She looks down their bodies for a moment, taking one of Arthur’s large hands between both of hers. “Would you like to know your present?”

“You being here is a gift enough,” Arthur says, and there’s a weight to his tone that makes Merlin’s breath catch in her throat.

“I’m pregnant.”

Arthur blinks at her, his jaw gone slack. His mouth tries to form words that don’t come to fruition. “What?” he manages after a few moments.

Merlin’s lips wobble into a smile. “I’m with child, Arthur.” She squeezes his hand. “Yours.”

“Thank the gods for that,” he says quickly, before he actually processes the words. “Really?” His throat is tight, and the word comes out about an octave above his normal voice. “You’re sure?”

Merlin nods, pressing her lips together as if she can’t contain her mirth. Her eyes are full of tears. “We’re having a baby.”

She guides Arthur’s hand down towards her belly. “I...” After a moment, Merlin gives up trying to say whatever she was attempting. Arthur’s hand splays protectively across her bare skin, and he swears there and then that nothing will ever harm this precious life growing inside Merlin, this little family of his own.

“How long?” is all he can say.

“A few weeks,” Merlin whispers. Arthur touches their foreheads together. “The dragon knows. That’s why I’m so sure.”

Arthur exhales with a smile, before he starts laughing. Merlin pulls back minutely to look at him, before Arthur pushes forward to kiss her, chasing her mouth. “What’s so funny?” Merlin laughs nervously against his lips.

“I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you for the next nine months,” Arthur says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I meant it, Merlin. You’re going to look so incredible while you’re pregnant, I just know it.”

Merlin raises her eyebrows. “You bloody _will_ keep your hands off me, when I’m being sick and, and... craving _olives_ and not wanting you within ten yards of me,” she says as if it’s a challenge, and Arthur moves forward to kiss her again, her protests dying against his lips.

“God, I hope it’s not a girl,” Arthur says, pressing on when he sees Merlin’s brows knit together. “If she’s as strong willed as her mother, we’ll never find her a suitor.”

“Maybe she’ll take pity on some lonely old king,” Merlin says, face relaxing into a smirk.

“I wasn’t _lonely_ ,” Arthur growls, wrapping his arms around Merlin and pulling her close. He knows every inch of Merlin’s skin like the back of his own hand, and he’s sure he can feel her belly jutting out slightly against his.

“No challenge to the ‘old’ thing then?” Merlin teases.

Arthur drops a hand to Merlin’s pussy, where she’s still sensitive. She bucks forward into his palm. “Still young enough to get you pregnant, though,” he says in a deep voice, and Merlin’s eyes go wide at it. He presses the heel of his palm against her swollen clit and she whimpers. “Still young enough to lick your honey out of you all Yule.”

“Don’t,” Merlin starts in a trembling voice, Arthur continuing his ministrations, “make promises you can’t keep, _sire_.”

Arthur chuckles. “Oh, I plan on keeping _this_ promise.”

*

If George, the stable hand, saw Queen Merlin wince the following day as he helped her mount Llamrei, he did not mention it to either her or King Arthur, who watched the entire affair with an extremely smug look on his face. George wasn’t sure, but he could guess why the King looked like that.

And if George saw the King double checking the buckles and knots in the horse’s tack, then he would’ve simply assumed that King Arthur was being diligent.

George purposefully averts his eyes after the King gently touches his gloved hand to Queen Merlin’s stomach for the fourth time, smiling widely.

Some things do not require an explanation at all.


End file.
